Your Murderer
by sapphireswimming
Summary: It's the final battle for Camelot but, no matter what any of the prophecies foretold, nothing was ever that black and white. Spoilers for series finale. Rated for character death.


**Set in 5x13. If you haven't finished the series, click back now or be forever spoiled.**

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**Your Murderer  
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_(and so it ends)_**  
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February 2, 2013

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Mordred advanced slowly, sword held in front of him. He took his time. No need to rush forward with a battle cry. The noise of the opening sallies did not fit this somber time and intimate place. No use stabbing Arthur in the back before he even had time to notice who had come upon him. He had to see and understand in order to appreciate how his deeds had orchestrated this outcome.

His worn, leather boots crunched against the gravel as he came forward. Hearing the noise, Arthur turned to look at the person behind him. His eyes opened wide as he realized who it was, why he was here.

The kneeling king put out a hand to steady himself as he abandoned vigil at his comrade's side and stood to face his opponent. The victims of previous skirmishes lay sprawled out in a circle around them. He had been fighting hard today. He had carried himself well. Proudly. Like a king. Like a Pendragon.

Yet he had not fought his hardest battle yet. He had not come up against a gifted warlock who wanted nothing more than to see him pay for his past actions. He had not fought a wielder of a dragon-forged sword. Arthur had survived against the faceless, mindless masses Morgana had thrown at him.

He would not survive this.

Mordred came forward to meet him, slowly drawing up his sword just as Arthur did his.

A smile crossed his face. Eager, almost gleeful, for a moment, before becoming distorted. A grimace that held in check every shred of remorse threatening to burst through before the deed had even been done. Then transforming into something obviously sad but still determined to fulfill its goal.

Resigned.

Wistful.

Arthur saw it all cross his face. His own visage was wary, looking for a way out of the confrontation. Hoping beyond all hope that this wouldn't happen, that they would not come face to face like this, that one of them would not have to kill the other.

He still saw him as his friend. His best knight. The boy he had defied his father to protect all those years ago.

The thought made Mordred pause. He felt it too. He knew their bond was strong. He had always looked up to Arthur, sought to please him, serve him as loyally as any man. He had tried, and nearly succeeded, to kill Morgana in order to protect this man.

So did he really have to kill him now?

_Yes._ His face hardened into a stone-like mask as he remembered the reason for his betrayal. The reason he had been forced to leave Camelot and join with Morgana to fight against the knights he had considered the only family he had known.

Kara. Arthur had killed Kara. Murdered her. Sentenced her to death even when he knew, _he knew_, how much it meant, how it would break him, how it would undue something in his head and his heart and shatter the foundation of his loyalties. How it would make him scream into the night, break out of the city with no regard to the lives of those in his way, and join with the last high priestess at which point he could never go back. No matter how much he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. He didn't want to stand at his side once more. Because this man killed Kara.

"You gave me no choice," Mordred told the blond haired knight now standing before him.

_This is not me. This is not what I wanted. I wanted to serve you. I wanted to be your right hand man. I wanted you to trust me, to be proud of me. But then you did the unforgivable. And this was the only thing I could do. This is your fault. I never wanted this. But you gave me no choice. You gave me no choice. _

Suddenly, there was no room between them. They had closed the gap. There was a moment when they both froze, unsure of what to do next and unwilling to take the next, and final step, but they could not stay like that forever and there was no time left to stall.

Mordred looked straight into blue eyes and before he knew it, before Arthur had time to realize that this was happening and react, his hand and sword moved out, and up, the finely tempered steel cutting through the chain mail and sticking heavily in the king's side.

Just as quickly, Mordred pulled the blade out again, tugging it back with a sickening noise as it caught on flesh and bone and blood.

Eyes flickered downward to his hand and the offending steel. For a moment, he could not believe that he had done it. That he had dealt the lethal blow that Morgana had been trying to deliver for years. He had killed the king. He had killed Arthur. He had killed the best man he ever knew, the one who had sheltered him, saved him, given him a chance even when everyone else, _even his brother in magic_, distrusted and shunned him. He owed him his life and love and allegiance. And he had just destroyed that. Destroyed Arthur. Destroyed Camelot and the better world he was creating.

The sword cutting through him- also forged in a dragon's breath to be able to pierce through armor of Morgana's devising, he thought absently- almost came as a welcome distraction.

He looked at the metal impaling his body, eyeing it with blinking eyes, as if he did not see it for what it was. Of course. How could he have thought otherwise? Arthur was stronger than that; he would never go down without a fight.

He smiled. Looked up at Arthur and smiled, even as Arthur withdrew the blade to let the deep, deep wound flow freely. He did not mind the crimson. He did not notice the sticky warmth seeping through the heavy layers of protective clothing. The light head and darkening vision did not matter.

As he fought to keep the blood from rising, as he swayed and stopped himself from reaching out for support from the man who had always been there for him, he smiled.

_Thank you. Thank you, Arthur. Thank you for ending this once and for all. For not letting me walk away to somehow live with what I have done to you._

The smile was wide, too wide, trembling in its intensity. Brimming with the last emotion Arthur ever expected to see. Remorse. Thankfulness. Happiness.

_Thank you_, as he began to fall.

_At least your murder has been avenged._

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**And now I will go deal with that emotional bombshell of a finale and cry huddled up in a corner, thank you very much.**

***begins to walk away***

***collapses***

***screams to the heavens***


End file.
